


Control

by October_rust



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Master/Slave, PWP, Undercover, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Dick and Jason infiltrate a sex slave ring.





	Control

“This one's feisty. Worth the trouble, though. The feisty ones are always all the sweeter to break.”

The man smiles at Dick – an ugly smile, full of cruelty. Dick nods in agreement, but all his attention is on Jason. Jason, who doesn't struggle in the man's grip, even though the man is yanking at his hair. Jason, who is currently wearing nothing but a collar and some flimsy loincloth. Jason, who is glaring daggers at Dick.

“I want him,” Dick says.

The man's smirk gets even uglier. “Oh, think you can handle him?” You, the air-headed son of Brucie Wayne, just as vapid and weak as your billionaire father, is the unspoken part of the question.

Dick shrugs, ignores the jab. “I have my ways.” He offers the man a sunny smile. “And I have the money.”

This argument never fails to win them over. The man releases Jason, pats Dick's shoulder in what's supposed to be a friendly gesture. “Of course.”

It takes just a phone call to transfer the money - a pretty exorbitant sum – and then the man turns to leave the room. “Enjoy your new toy,” he says, satisfied with the transaction, and closes the door behind him.

For a long moment, Dick and Jason simply stare at each other in silence.

They have never been close, not even during Jason's days as Robin, when the kid was full of joy and looked at Dick with wide-eyed admiration. Not much of that kid is left now. Jason is a young man, the fact driven home by the hard lines of the body on display that Dick can't help but trace with his gaze.

So much has changed.

He swallows, gathers his resolve and walks over to Jason.

Up close, Jason's eyes are even more vividly blue, the anger sparkling in them like a hot, pulsing wave.

A challenge.

And Dick answers it – reaches out, grips at the collar around Jason's neck, tugs, until Jason has no choice but to lean down.

“Don't need you here, Grayson,” he whispers against Dick's throat. “I've got it under control.”

Dick shifts, mindful of the cameras hidden amid the decadent opulence of the room, so that his mouth is pressed to the underside of Jason's jaw. “B was worried.”

“Of course he was. So he had to send his golden boy as a backup.” It's barely more than a sigh, but the exasperation in Jason's voice still stings. “Okay, Goldie. Ready to give those fuckers a convincing show?”

Something cold twists inside Dick's stomach. Yes, they are being watched, and now's the time to prove to the people behind the cameras that Dick is one of them – a spoiled, rich brat, just as rotten inside, just as depraved as the rest of the Gotham elite who have no qualms about buying and using sex slaves.

He takes a step back, puts some distance between himself and Jason again.

“Hands behind your back,” he orders.

Muscles shift under glistening skin in an impressive display, smooth and fluid, as Jason straightens up to his full height and clasps his hands behind his back. He towers over Dick, the coiled power of his body visible in the breadth of his shoulders, the solidity of his thighs.

Slowly, leisurely, Dick starts to circle him, sliding his gaze over Jason. He pauses to assess the line of the ramrod straight spine, traces it with his fingertip all the way down to the taut buttocks.

“Nice,” he comments.

Jason's only reaction is the white-knuckled grip of his fingers around the wrist of his left hand. Otherwise, he's standing still, completely impassive.

Dick continues his unhurried inspection, keeps his touch light. There are no old scars on Jason's skin, he notices, no remnants of the Joker and the crowbar. The Lazarus Pit erased them all. And Jason is …

Beautiful.

His mind stumbles over the word, but it's the truth. It's a wild and dangerous kind of beauty, and Dick hates himself for seeing it, for being drawn to it.

There's a knowing look in Jason's eyes when Dick is done with his stroll and they are face to face again. _Like what you see, Dickie?_

Dick feels his cheeks heat up.

Jason tilts his chin up, the corner of his mouth lifting in a mocking smile. _What are you going to do about it, hmm?_

Well?

Dick backhands him.

Jason's head jerks to the side with the force of the blow, his eyes closing instinctively, the strands of black hair falling over his forehead in a messy tumble. Blood starts to seep from his split lip in a sluggish trickle.

After a moment that seems like an eternity, he opens his eyes, licks at his bloodied mouth. This time, there's a hint of admiration in his gaze. _Well done, Dickie._

And then it's gone, and there's nothing but cold fury and a promise of retribution, all fitting the rebellious slave he's playing. “That's all you've got?”

And Dick finds it so easy to play along, to yank at that mop of black hair and bare Jason's throat, grip a firm pectoral, rake his fingernails over a nipple just to make Jason hiss and rear back. To take, and claim, and stake his ownership.

So easy - to glide his palm over Jason's abdomen, feel the muscles tense and quiver, to follow the narrow trail of coarse hair just below the navel and reach under the loincloth.

Jason grits his teeth, the tendons in his neck straining out in reaction to the touch.

But Dick doesn't stop. It's crude and humiliating – and something that's expected in this room. A master breaking his new slave and sampling everything the slave's body has to offer.

He gives Jason's cock a light squeeze, surprised to find it already half-hard. He cuts a glance at Jason's face, notes the light blush dusting his cheeks, the hunger in his eyes. They are playing, it's only a cover, and yet the lines are already blurred, and something dark and ugly tangles with the shame he's feeling.

They are not supposed to be enjoying this, he knows. Just make it real enough to fool the people watching them through the cameras.

But …

Jason's cock is hot and heavy in his palm, pulsing with rushing blood, and he can't help but glide his fingers over the length, caress the vein on the underside. Just once, before he lets go and pushes Jason away.

“On your knees.”

Jason doesn't even blink; he sinks to the floor in one smooth motion. The flush on his face is more pronounced, his breathing visibly uneven. He regards Dick with heavy lidded eyes and, without prompting, reaches for Dick's belt buckle.

Stunned, Dick can only watch as Jason undoes the button, slides down the zipper of his slacks. He's suddenly struck by how surreal this whole situation is: the contrast between his elegant clothes and Jason's nakedness, the fact that that the man kneeling before him came back from the dead, that Dick was supposed to be a brother to him once upon a time, and that what they are now can be best described as distant allies.

Distant allies. He almost laughs at that. What a mess. What a terrible mess.

But all his thoughts scatter when Jason's fingers close around his cock.

He tenses in anticipation, waiting for the next touch, arousal pooling low in the pit of his stomach. A gust of hot breath is his only warning before Jason licks a stripe along the shaft, then presses a small kiss to the head, already damp with pre-come. Another kiss, and Dick can't smother a groan, can't stop his fingers from tangling in Jason's hair.

And Jason doesn't give him any time to regain control – he opens his lips and sucks at the head, taking as much of Dick's length as he can inside his mouth. Snug heat, a light graze of teeth, and it's almost too much, too good.

Jason clasps his hips, steadying him, finds a quick, merciless rhythm. Everything else fades away; there's just Jason, warm and alive under Dick's hands, his mouth pulling and sucking at Dick's cock, surrounding him, taking him.

The pressure builds until Dick's muscles seize up and he comes with a shout, his vision blurring, the pleasure crashing over him, drowning him in molten waves.

He sways, but Jason catches him again. Dazed, panting for breath, Dick looks down at him, his gaze drawn by the red lips, a droplet of white at the corner of Jason's mouth. Jason gives him a crooked smile, leans in and tucks his cock back into his trousers.

Before pulling away, he surges up, and kisses Dick's stomach.

Even with the fabric of the shirt in the way, Dick still feels the heat of Jason's lips.

The kiss burns his skin like a brand.

 ***

They don't speak of it when they meet again two days later and take down the ringleaders of the organization. They fight well together, their movements in perfect synchronization, Nightwing's grace complemented by Red Hood's ruthlessness.

After the fight, Jason hands him the pendrive with all the evidence necessary to send the scum behind the bars and ensure they stay there for a long time, no matter how rich and privileged they are.

“I played by your rules. Didn't off any of them, gave you the evidence, so I guess that would be all.” Jason holsters his guns, brushes the splatter of blood off his jacket. “Time to go.”

“Wait!”

On impulse, Dick grabs Jason's shoulder. They stand in silence, and Dick curses the helmet obscuring Jason's features.

“About what happened ...”

“Nothing happened.” Jason takes Dick's hand off his shoulder, hesitates, and gives it a surprisingly gentle squeeze. Dick squeezes back, their fingers tangling for a long moment, neither of them willing to let go.

Finally, Jason slackens his hold and steps back. “Take care, Nightwing.”

Dick watches him go.


End file.
